The Mob
by Vitaliciouscreations
Summary: It takes less effort to try to fit in when you stick out then to try to stick out when you've already fit in. And standing up for what you believe in against the few is difficult when you're not sure what you believe in or if you believe at all.


**I don't really know where this came from...I hope those who like it, love it. ENJOY.**

**Oh, and I don't own Danny Phantom or anything that comes from it.**

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><p>I hate myself sometimes. It just made me sad, seeing them picking on him. I always wanted to do something, but I never did. He must hate me, too. I would, if I was him.<p>

He probably doesn't even know my name, but he saved me more times than I can count or even remember. I never did anything. I never tried to save him, never cared enough. He cared enough.

Now he stands there, afraid, terrified that we won't accept him, and yet, if anybody, I should be the one begging for forgiveness. He's done more than everybody here combined, and yet we stand here, looking for the verdict on whether or not to accept him.

A tear trickles down his cheek, and I swear his eyes lock on mine for a moment, begging for me to speak up. I can't bear that look, which I have gotten from someone else before. But his eyes didn't just lock on mine, I'm sure of that. I'm only one of hundreds. Maybe the other people in the mob are ashamed too.

"He's no better than the vermin he fights!" calls out someone in the crowd.

"Wrong!" cries another voice. "He's protected us for so long, against so many! Clearly he is a higher being, an earthly god!"

I look up again, at his face. It looks broken, shattered. All hope gone. He doesn't want to be a menace, and doesn't want to be a god. He just wants to fit in. He just wants to be left alone.

Guilty images seize me, but I push them away. Tear-streaked faces, like his, pleading for someone, anyone, to just talk. Speak up. Only looking at me for a second before moving on, but I can still feel the desperation in their gaze.

That Latino boy, who looked at me with coffee brown eyes, a broken heart behind them. Looked for just an instant before moving on, and yet, the instant was long enough to let me know the pain. Let us know the pain.

Nobody spoke up for him, and the next day the announcements came on, proclaiming suicide. Nobody spoke up then, and nobody spoke up now. But this fallen angel in front of me, he wasn't there when the Latino boy pleaded silently for help. He would have helped him like the rest of us failed to do.

"I say shoot him before he kills us all!" someone screamed.

"No! He's a hero! He should be worshipped, not scorned!" said another.

A hero? Yes, I finally knew what a hero was. It wasn't Superman, or a masked flying figure. It was that person in the hallway that actually stopped, actually spared a glance. That person who didn't laugh along with the rest while their soul slowly drained from them. That person who knew how to cry.

This was a frequent occasion, when a hero's valiant acts caught up with him. There were to ways this could go. Another hero could be born, or not. It depended on the mob. It's not like somewhere in here there's a Batman who can jump out and stand. No, I know the truth now. I knew it all along, but with him it was finally forced out, I was forced to face it.

"A hero? He's a menace. A villain, that's what he is! He's done nothing but lie and cheat us!"

"Yeah," agreed another voice. "He's just a pathetic abomination. He should be destroyed!"

"No! He's a good person," wailed his friend desperately. "Don't!"

His lips formed the word 'please', but it was silent. As silent as us. I wasn't apart from this mob, I was one of them. I wanted to believe I was different, but I wasn't I was just another black face, refusing to interfere. I'm not more relevant than another stone on the path of misery.

Any one of us, we could do it. We could step up, scream at the monsters dampening this doorstep. We could step out, stop the few we could scream, and shout. All of us together. But a long time ago we had figured out how it works. Don't speak up, just give in. You give into the people who guide this stuff, and push away the pain. Everything is easier that way.

It's not my fault, this. It's our fault. No individual is to blame, but the raging mob that looked past him, through him, with blank eyes, never pausing or faltering. The mob that laughed when they laughed, and followed them. The mob that never helped him.

Not my fault, ours. But I could make a difference. Break these chains hung over me by them, and help him. But my soul was closed, uncaring. I wasn't a monster, I wasn't a horrible person. I was an average person. That's the worst thing about it.

"Don't you dare step forward, you monsters!" screeched one of his friends viciously. "He's a hero, you all know it. You've all been saved by him. By him, not from him. He's better than each and every one of you!"

"No he's not!" the huntress called back. "He's a monster. He ruined my life without a seconds hesitation. Twice! I can't live if he lives!"

His face is shattered. He doesn't want to be better or worse than us, he wants to be one of us. Us average people. He doesn't know what it's like. Maybe we're not monsters individually, but together, we're nothing but an entity of uncaring at unpitying.

He wants to be like us, but I don't want to be like him. I don't want the responsibilities, the determination. I would like to say I want the caring, but the pain comes with it, and I can't deal with it. Never speak up, and never give in to that small part inside of you screaming to help. Drown that part in the sweet plainness of your life. It's easier that way.

You don't end up like that Asian girl who spoke up. Not for him, but for someone else. A boy, tinier than us, and smarter. She spoke up, and they pounced on her. Three weeks and she transferred to another school. I hoped nobody picked on her there, but I can't know for sure, because I didn't check. I forgot.

Something about this moment, it strikes my soul. It brings up old memories, when I didn't speak up. They're too plentiful to count, and the worst part is every time these memories come up, another memory is born. And every time it's the same. Stand there, don't speak up, don't give in.

I know a few of my fellow mob members have given in, defended him. It's only been a half an hour, and yet, it feels like an eternity. Internal struggles always do, and I've had my fair share. But the bottom line is, that bottomless pit inside me keeps growing bigger, and I know that I'm not going to do anything. That would mean sacrifice myself, not us. Sacrificing us, I can handle. Not me.

"Please." This time, it's audible. His voice wavers and shakes, and his eyes sweep over the crowd pleadingly. They land on me for a moment, and they stay on us. Us, not me. His eyes keep roving, and he looks heartbroken. Is heartbroken.

"You're nothing but an abomination." Normally, this voice wouldn't raise any attention, because it always says the same thing. But this time, we all know that he's her son. He's not just another ghost she's dedicated to destroying. She's loved him forever, and now that love is broken.

I can see his heart shatter again, and I figure if it were more than a metaphor, he'd be vomiting blood, for all the jagged pieces of heart causing internal bleeding. I know we feel bad for him, this entity of us. He's saved us all, individually. We have different memories, and that's enough to drive a wedge into the mob. But is it a big enough wedge? We've been together forever, members come and go but the mob stays the same. Silent.

"No!" I suddenly call, my voice resonating from my soul. "He's not a monster, he's not a god. He's a person, like you or me, and we should treat him as such!" I run up in front of him, and stare down the mob, my mob. Slowly, their blank faces turn to smiles, and they step forward to join me.

One, was me. Two, a blonde girl. Three, and African American male. Four, a red-headed girl. Five, a lesser quarterback, dragging six, his cheerleader girlfriend. Seven, a punk boy, not smiling, but joining us.

The boy behind me looks at us with hope in his eyes again. We have restored it. Me and my mob. Not us, but all of us. Individually and together. We're heros, each and every one of us….

But that is a fantasy. The anniversary of my greatest mistake, it happened a year ago. I can look back on it, and fantasize on what would have happened if I had stepped forward. But I didn't. I didn't do anything as dark spots appeared on the pavement from his freed tears. His own parents stepped forward, aiming lethal weapons at his broken heart.

His red-head brainiac sister, never part of the mob, put herself in the way, crying freely too. She was brave, I could tell that. I want to say I wished I was like her, but I don't. I'm happy where I am, in the midst of a mob.

The boy put a hand on her shoulder, and she spun around. We all turned our attention to him, and saw him clearly pull out a silver and green gun from his backpack.

"NO!" his sister shouted viciously. "No. No, please. Danny, you're a hero. You're the best. Please. Don't."

He gave her a grim look, and smiled encouragingly. He mumbled a few words to her, words I couldn't hear. She kept shaking her head and crying, but all he did was squeeze her hand.

His other hand, the one holding the gun, raised until it was level with his heart. His two friends cried out and tried to reach him, but they couldn't in time. He pulled the trigger, and an electric green flash filled the area. I'd like to say I closed my eyes, but I can't. I watched his body fall all the way to the ground, and when it hit, I watched the gun scrabble across the pavement, coming to rest at the mobs feet.

The worst part, us collectively could have done something. I know that. but we didn't. The mob followed it's main principal, protect it's members and not care about the ones outside of it.

No, the worst part is. I don't feel guilty. Only hollow.

**Sooo...did you like it? Love it? Hate it? Want to tear it to bits? I don't know, guys, I feel it's a little blank and obscure. The 'mob', morbid.**

**Do you think the person this POV belongs to is male or female?**


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